The Root Of Love
by L 0 K I
Summary: old challenge fic. Paris spikes the stew, Torres teaches 7 the finer points of food catapulting, and the Borg drop in for a visit. OOCness runs rampant. 7Doc. minor Chakotay bashing.


Disclaimer:  not mine!

Another old one I found on my hard-drive.  This one was written for a rather detailed challenge, but I don't have the conditions of the challenge with me anymore.  I took the ingredients listed, and this is what resulted.  That said, don't blame if this story comes across as completely stupid. ^_^ Oh, and I think I poke fun at most of the characters at least once, nobody take offense please, because I'm just playing. ;-D

Thanks!  Feedback makes the fanfic world go 'round!

The Root of Love

_"Hold me."_

_"Hmmm . . ."_

_Tom shook B'Elanna again, poked and prodded at her until she finally stirred and glared up at him.  _

_"Damn it, Tom!  What do you want?!"_

_"B'Elanna, please, please hold me.  I had this horrible, terrible dream . . ."  _

_"Tom?"_

*** * ***

That night . . .a night like any other on Voyager.  It had started in the Mess Hall.  It had started with one of Tom's 'brilliant ideas'.  But then again---didn't it always?

Dinner was just being served, much to everybody's dismay.  Various crewmembers chatted and poked at their resident Talaxian's (in)famous Leola Root Stew.  With many smiles and small laughs, little did they realize the danger that was passing their lips.  That is, when they *_could* get it past their lips. _

One table in particular was beginning to feel the affects.  A certain half-Klingon female had been watching---with nothing short of astonishment, mind you---as her 'companion' shoveled down mouthful after mouthful of the vile dish.

"How can you eat THAT?" she huffed, raising her glass to her lips.  He looked up and that was all it took.  The slight turn to his lips, the sparking glint to his eyes.  It was as obvious as a neon sign flashing over his head.  'iamaverybadboy.  iamaverybadboy.'

     "Tom," she hissed, glancing around nervously, "what have you done?!"

"Done?  What do you mean?"  He gave her his best 'innocent' mask.  It might have worked if she were blind . . .and deaf, and maybe even a little brain dead to boot.  With every word he spoke her dark eyes narrowed and her temper flared.

"Give me that!"  She ripped the bowl out of his hand and glared into its murky depths.  It looked like it.  She sniffed it.  It certainly smelled like it.  She tentatively poked the Leola Root Stew with her fork then took a small bite.  And then another.  Her eyes turned up to him several times larger.

"This is . . .actually good!"

Tom sat back and grinned as B'Elanna finished off his bowl.  It didn't take long.  In fact, she was swallowing the last bite when she finally realized something was wrong (as if willingly eating Leola Root wasn't wrong enough).  The noise level had picked up slightly in the Mess Hall, one young Ensign fell out of his chair laughing, but that wasn't it.  There was a strange warmth spreading throughout her body, a heat to her face, and a giggle trying to tear through her throat.

     "Tom!  What did you do?!"  She croaked, trying to keep the sound from rising out of her.

His grin widened noticeably.  "Do you remember that M-class planet we traded with last week?"

     She nodded.  It seemed all she was capable of.

     "Do you remember that very intriguing drink---what did they call it?  Ah, yes!  Ekas!"

     She wanted to be horrified, but it just was not happening.  The most she could manage was an annoyed tint to her eyes.  "You didn't!" she coughed, but knew it was futile.  He *had*.

He shrugged, "I figured the crew would appreciate a little spice to dinner." 

     She glanced around.  True enough there were an alarming amount of flushed cheeks and glazed eyes.  Those blessedly Leola Root-free were lining up for some.  Much to Neelix's almost orgasmic joy.

     At that moment B'Elanna could no longer contain herself.  She grasped the edge of the table and laughed.  Laughed and laughed until tears threatened to spill over her eyes.

     "The. .Captain. .Is . .Going . . .To kill you!  And I'm going to help!"

     Tom smiled at her, nodded, but his sparkling eyes dived far past her, following something else.  B'Elanna turned just in time to see the seductive swing of Seven's hips as she (w/st)alked purposefully past the forming line and for an empty table.  She had a data padd in her hand and productive intent in her eyes, and it just wouldn't do.

     "Seven!" the half-drunk, half-Klingon woman cried out.  She practically bounced to Seven's table as Tom scrambled over himself to keep up, worry suddenly replacing amusement.

     "B'Elanna Torres." Seven stated, glancing from the Lieutenant's unusually wide smile to Tom's sheepish one.

     "That's my name!"

     Seven's optical implant raised high over one blue eye.

     "Let me get you something to eat," B'Elanna chirped.

     "I do not require a nutritional supplement at this time," Seven said, turning back to the padd in her hand.

     "O, come on, Seven!  Just a little!"

     The blonde looked up coolly, never letting on how exactly odd she found the Lieutenant's behaviour to be.  B'Elanna was happy to take Seven's continuing silence as consent.  A few minutes later she returned, having used her natural Klingon grace to shove herself to the front of the line and snatch up the nearest bowl of spiked stew.

     Seven stared down at the Lieutenant's gift, then sighed, picked up a utensil and took a bite.  "Thank you, B'Elanna Torres," she stated rather emotionlessly.

     Tom wrapped a hand around B'Elanna's elbow, attempting to divert her away from a possible catastrophe.  

     "Now be a good girl and finish your dinner!" she threw over her shoulder before reluctantly giving in to Tom's urgings.

     He was feeling a little more than worried then, especially when he saw the Captain enter with Chakotay and Harry.  He swallowed hard and completely forgot about the woman he was leading.  Thankfully things weren't too out of hand, but he knew as soon as Janeway---or Chakotay, probably Chakotay, noticed something was off . . .he would be as good as toast.

     Harry was coming towards him, grinning all the while, but Tom swept past him and sidled right up to Janeway.

     "Captain!" he grasped her attention, as well as the First Officer's.  "Can I interest you in some of Neelix's new Leola Root Stew recipe?  It's actually quite good."

     She eyed him skeptically a moment, which was nothing out of the ordinary, then shrugged.  "Why not."  

     Famous last words.

     Tom grinned wide enough that his face should have cracked open.  He slapped Harry in the stomach and said, "Help me."

     Ensign Kim frowned, but followed his friend.  

     "Three servings of Leola Root Stew, Neelix."  

     The Talaxian's head popped up, and he seemed about to protest as much as those waiting in line, but when Tom pointed out that it was for the Captain---everybody quickly bit their tongue and mumbled incoherently at the floor.

     Harry Kim perhaps wasn't always the quickest study, but as he and Tom made their way back to the Captain's table . . .he was certain that something was out of place.  He stirred his stew around absently, curious eyes following and studying various crewmembers, he took a bite.  He started to wince at the taste, but hesitated.  His suspicion melted as the first heavenly flavour slid against his tongue.  He almost moaned.

     "Good, ain't it?"  Tom piped up.  But before Harry could answer something went flying past his head.  There was a shrill gasp followed by:

     "You're doing it wrong!!"  

     B'Elanna Torres stomped up to Seven and ripped the fork out of her hand.  She then scraped up some Leola Root and said. "Watch me."

     A few seconds later the stew was dripping down the face of a suddenly wide-eyed junior officer.  Seven giggled, took the fork from the Klingon's hand and was about to try again when Tom jumped to his feet.  

     It was too late---the Talaxian's stew was already air-bourne.  This time the young officer had the grace to duck.  Unfortunately, he was still not quick enough.

     Seven turned to a howling Torres and said, her voice deepening theatrically, "I possess superior hand-eye coordination."

     "O yeah?" B'Elanna slurred.  She was reaching for the fork when Tom realized he had to do something and quick.  He had wanted to have a little fun, but it seemed that he was somehow stuck with damage control.  Maybe he felt guilty?  

     Naw.

     "B'Elanna," he yelled.  His favourite Klingon dropped the fork and jumped as if he had caught her with her hand in the cookie jar, causing Seven to laugh even more.  "Come here.  And bring Seven with you!"

     Torres glanced at the former Borg then laced her arm through hers and jerked her along.  By the time they reached the Captain's table Tom had pulled two chairs up and was urging them to sit.  With a sigh and a frown they both finally consented.

     "Whatdya want, Flyboy?"

     Seven seemed to think that was funny; she laughed again---which in turn caused B'Elanna to laugh.  It was very clear, then, that Leola Root wasn't the only thing in the stew.

     What Tom needed was a distraction, a game of some sorts that they could play.  He mentally went down a list of all the games he knew, ones especially suited for this kind of occasion.  He immediately scratched off Truth or Dare.  It was . . .too dangerous.  Charades perhaps?

     "Harry, do you have a tricorder?"

     Harry seemed to genuinely have to think about it a moment, his eyes slightly unfocused.  "Ummmm . . .No?"  

     Neelix waddled up a few seconds later with one in hand, "Will this do, Mr. Paris?"

     "Yesss!"  He snatched it up and laid it, unfolded, in the centre of the table.  Six pairs of eyes followed it.  Tom glanced back up to Neelix.  "Do you wanna play?"

     "What's the game?"

     "An old Earth game called 'spin the bottle' . . .or in this case---spin the tricorder."  

     Many confused looks ensued.

     "Oh!  Oh!"  Janeway cried, leaning forward and almost knocking her empty bowl to the floor.  "I remember playing this game back in Indiana!  Can I go first?!"

     Paris couldn't help the choked laugh that erupted.  He waved his hand at her.  "Captains first."

     "Kathryn?" Chakotay said hesitantly, but she ignored him, reached out and gave the tricorder a spin.  Around and around it went and when it finally came to a stop . . .Janeway pouted.

     "What does that mean," Neelix asked.

     "It means she has to kiss you."  Neelix's eyes swung to the First Officer and then to his Captain.  He smiled nervously.  "You don't have to."

     Janeway thought about it a moment then sighed.  "Rules are rules, Neelix, but you lean down here because I am NOT getting up."  Everybody watched wide-eyed and speechless as he obeyed and her arms slipped up around his neck.  

     "Your whiskers tickle," she finally giggled.  Neelix was uncharacteristically silent.  He seemed to be blushing, but it was too difficult to tell amongst the other colours.

     "My turn," Torres cried out and the tricorder was spinning again.  In fact, it spun for almost two minutes before slowly easing to a stop.  She grinned sloppily at Harry.

     "Um," Harry swallowed audibly, "May—mph!"

     After a moment, and many laughs at Ensign Kim's expense, Torres settled back into her chair, clapping excitedly.  "I'm winning!"

     Tom didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't that kind of game.  He doubted she would be able to understand anyway.  

     "Seven, your turn."

     "What is the purpose of this game?"

     Torres stopped gloating over her obvious 'victory' and turned to the Borg curiously.  

     Tom shook his head.  "To have fun and be silly."  

     Seven stared hard at the tricorder as if her mere gaze could will it to do whatever she wished.  After all, it seemed to work on many of the male species that she encountered.  She gave it a short, precise whirl and watched as it did 3.47 turns then slowly edged to an end.

     "The tricorder dictates that I must kiss you, Tom Paris."

     That got most of B'Elanna's attention, but the former, and fully inebriated Borg stood gracefully from her seat and leaned over Tom.  Before things could explode around him he rose up, pecked her on the lips and sat back down.

     Seven grinned suddenly, a slight air of pride as she looked around the table.  "I am . . .being silly now."

     "Ya got that right, sister," B'Elanna blurted out.  Seven's head tilted and she looked genuinely perplexed as she returned to her seat.

     "Chakotay, since you're the First Officer---you go next."

     Chakotay, who hadn't consumed as much Leola Root Stew as Kathryn, but more than Harry Kim, sighed as if they were asking him to take a space walk without a suit.  He took his turn at Tom's, and more oddly---Kathryn's incessant egging.  

     Harry Kim, of course, glared at him when the tricorder stopped.  And Seven was once again leaning over the table, her lips puckering slightly.  Chakotay moved in quickly, turned her face aside and laid him mouth momentarily against her cheek.

     "Hey!  That's cheating!"  Torres hissed.

     "A kiss is a kiss," he hissed back.  He just wasn't enjoying this game at all.  Aside from kissing the most attractive female this side of the quadrant, and probably the next.

     Tom watched his turn come.  He was less interested in the game than he was with watching the players.  He ended up kissing the Captain, which had been okay until he felt something warm and wet slip between his lips.  Let's just say he jerked back with a new understanding of his 'Captain'.  She smiled and winked at him, sliding her hands over his collar suggestively before settling back down.  

     Thankfully, B'Elanna had been preoccupied with studying (as best as her suddenly very short attention span would allow) Seven's left hand, asking very personal questions about which parts of her anatomy might be affected by the implants, and which were 'fully functional'---as Seven put it.  The two females giggled conspiringly as both Harry and Chakotay turned beet-red.  Neelix reached for the tricorder as if a lifeline.

     "My turn!"  Which really didn't ease the tension for the poor Talaxian.  He almost twitched.

     "I will NOT!"

     "Oh, come on, Chakotay," Kathryn purred, "it's just part of the game."

     "Well, I don't wanna play this game anymore!  It's stupid!" And with that he stomped off and to another end of the Mess Hall.

     "Maybe he's just afraid his 'spirit animal' will get jealous if he kisses Neelix," Torres commented absently, forcing all eyes back to her.

*** * ***

The Doctor was bored.  So very bored.  Dinner had come and gone, and it was unusually quiet for what was often the busiest part of his day---aside from breakfast and lunch.  Part of him wished that some one would just get sick and give him something to do.  He sighed dramatically, rearranged the padds stacked on his desk yet again.

     He was bored.  So very bored.

     He stared at the doors to Sickbay and willed them to open.

     He stared at the wall and willed it to crumble.

     He wouldn't even mind if Mr. Paris dropped by.

     "Seven of Nine to the Doctor."

     The Doctor jumped for joy.  "Doctor here."

     "Hey, Doc! *giggle*"

     His eyebrows raised high on his very high forehead.  Surely he did not just hear her giggle.  "Seven?"

     "Yep."

     " . . .Are you feeling well?"

     "Yes.---I mean NO.  I need your help, Doctor.  Really bad.  Really."

     His simulated 'heart' jumped and fluttered as he imagined all sorts of painful injuries.  "Where are you?"

     "Um," there was a long pause and then her voice returned, more distant, "it's kind of tight in here."

     "Computer.  Locate Seven of Nine."

     "Seven of Nine is in Jefferies Tube 47."

     The Doctor grabbed his mobile emitter, a medical tricorder, and was flying out the door at high speed.  

     When he finally reached her she waved, then picked up something and presented it to him gleefully.

     "I constructed this for my best friend."

     He ignored the brightly coloured paper she was eagerly thrusting at him, knelt at her side and ran the scanner up and down her body.  His eyes swept with it, but widened considerably more when he finally looked at the readings.

     "Seven!  You're drunk!"

     The number formerly known as Borg pouted.  "I am not!"

     "Yes, you are!"

     She shook her head, once left, once right.  "Am NOT!"

     "Seven," he sighed, disappointment ringing clear in his voice, "what did I tell you about drinking?  Your implants just can't handle---"

     "Doctor!  Do you not like my gift?"  She shoved it at him again, causing him to rock off-balance.  He tumbled over backwards with a small, startled 'eep'.  

     The medical tricorder went flying out of his grasp, struck the wall, skidded, turned, turned, then pointed directly at him.  

     Seven squealed with delight, crawled over him on her hands and knees.

     "The tricorder dictates that I must kiss you, Doctor."

     "What?!"

     She pressed her lips into his, then fell against him.  He scrambled, limbs flailing before he finally could manage to come up for air.  Seven sat back and grinned like the cat that had got its fill of the cream.  "I win," she chirped.

     "Seven," he grasped her shoulders and shook her lightly, he half-way didn't believe this was happening, "you have to tell me exactly what you drank."

     "I didn't drink anything," she replied, maybe a little breathlessly.

     "That's it.  You are coming with me to Sickbay," she watched as he pushed and pulled on the hatch, her smile broadening all the while.  "What the . . .it won't open!"

     He pulled; put all of the might he could muster into it, then froze.  What was that?  What was that he was hearing?  He spun around.

     Seven was trying to hide her laughter behind her hand, but was failing miserably.  "B'Elanna Torres has locked it," she choked, tints of her usual severity coming through and twisting her voice.

     "I guess we'll just have to find another way out then," he mumbled.  Seven was quickly shaking her head, escaped strands of gold caressing her pinkened cheeks.  "No?"

     "B'Elanna Torres has erected a forcefield."

     The Doctor stared at her for a full minute before giving up and turning back.  He tapped his Comm badge rather hard.  "The Doctor to Lieutenant Torres."

     "Torres here."

     The Doctor's horrified eyes widened further.  " . . .Ensign Kim?"

     Pause.  "Uh, no."

     "This is Ensign Kim, I know it!"

     There was a slight rustle followed by a few whispered words and then a nearly swallowed chuckle.  "Torres here."

     "CAPTAIN?!"  The Doctor screeched, "Not you too!"  His head fell against the hatch with an audible 'thump', he groaned.  Was everybody aboard this damn vessel drunk?

     That was nearly all he could stand.  As much as the thought of being stranded anywhere with Seven appealed to him---not while she was so uninhibited.  There was a little voice in his head devising all sorts of scenarios that could happen, things she would be highly susceptible to in her state.  He would not.  Could not.

Wanted to.  

This was not of the good.

*** * ***

Tuvok glanced around the bridge and its skeletal crew.  It had been exactly three hours and forty-seven minutes since the Captain had turned it over to him and set off for the Mess Hall.  Three hours and forty-seven minutes seemed a little extreme for a cup of coffee, even for her.  He had tried to contact her, but it appeared that the Comm system was malfunctioning.  Oddly, he kept getting Lieutenant Torres.

     The ship rocked a moment under his feet and he had to grasp the edge of a console to keep from pitching forward.  

     "Ensign.  Report."

     "The inertial dampers were momentarily off-line, but they are up and running again."

     No kidding.  Outwardly he said, "Cause?"

     "Some . . . sort of turbulence."  

     Tuvok fought hard the sigh that tried to over-take him.  Why was he always being stuck with the morons?

     "We're being hailed."

     One eyebrow raised.  "On screen."

     A menacing cube flickered into view, alarmingly close to the ship.  "We are the Borg . . ."

     Tuvok's pulse raised slightly.  It was almost average.  "Mute," he said, turning to Ensign Emanon.  "Ensign, how did this vessel approach us without warning?"

     Ensign Emanon's eyes were wide as he stared at the cube, and then his superior.  "I . . .I don't know . . ."

     "I hereby demote you, Ensign Norom Emanon," the Vulcan leveled at him.  "IF we survive---your duties will be helping Neelix in the Mess Hall and away missions with Ensign Kim."

     Emanon's eyes widened to the point of no return.  He hung his head and shuddered visibly.  "Aye, Sir."

     "Now power weapons."

     _Tick tock tick tock tick tock . . ._

     "Ensign?  Power weapons."

     Short silence.  "Why?"

     "Do you wish your existence to end?"

     "It seems to me that being a Drone has got to be BETTER THAN WORKING WITH NEELIX."

     Tuvok stared emotionlessly at the peeved Ensign.  "Opinion noted.  Now power weapons before I am forced to open up a can of whoop-ass."

     " . . .Aye. Sir."

*** * ***

Leola Root Stew dripped in an almost steady stream from Janeway's hand; it clung in half-dried clumps to her auburn hair.  

"Do you hear anything?"

     She and Ensign Kim peered around the over-turned table, cautiously glancing from one end of the Mess Hall to the other.

     "Nothing," she spoke, just as 'nothing' whizzed over her head.  Ensign Kim fell back and pulled her down with him, laughing at the surprised look on her face.

     Indirectly, the food fight was B'Elanna and Seven's fault.  A certain young officer had finally swallowed enough Leola Root to lose any semblance of good sense.  His revenge was short-lived though when several Senior Officers, who shall remain unnamed, retaliated.  

     Which in turn sparked a Leola Root War.

     "Hey!"  Janeway hissed, as Kim leaned in a little too closely.

     "Was that the---"

     "Captain Kathryn Janeway."

     Janeway was thoroughly intoxicated and felt empty and light as a feather, but the voice registered almost immediately.  She scrambled for a phaser she didn't have, and the table toppled forward.  Both her and Ensign Kim jumped to their feet, exposed.  

     "Captain Kathryn Janeway," the Borg Queen sneered, "You realize the Delta Quadrant isn't big enough for the both of us." 

     "So we meet again," Janeway responded contemptuously, despite the delicate hiccup that followed.  Ensign Kim snickered, that is, until his Captain elbowed him in the stomach.  Then he groaned.

     "I will destroy you and assimilate all your miserable crew."

     Janeway sighed, rolled her eyes to the high ceiling.  "La de da.  Sure you will.  Haven't you learned by now?"  She took a much-needed breath, "DON'T MESS WITH STARFLEET!"

     "AND THE MAQUIS!" came a lone voice from one of the makeshift mini-forts.

     "YEAH," cried Harry Kim, but was quickly silenced by one frigid look from both the Queen and Janeway.  His eyes fell to the floor and he shuffled around a bit.  "Sorry."

     "Farewell, thorn in my side."

     "We'll see, pain in my ass."

     The Queen cocked her head and seconds later several drones shimmered into being.  "My Drones have appeared all over your ship, Captain Kath---"

     "'Janeway' will do."

     " . . .My Drones have appeared all over your ship, _Captain Janeway.  Opposition is pointless---"_

     "Don't you mean, 'Resistance is futile'?"

     "No.  I am finding that phrase to be rather redundant."

     "And you're just now noticing that?"  Janeway shook her head pityingly. "Sometimes you Borg can be so slow on the uptake."

     "Um, Captain?"  Harry broke in, "What do we do with them?"

     The Drones were advancing with their maddeningly oblivious faces.  The Borg Queen grinned, but so did Janeway.

     "ATTACK!"

     Suddenly Leola Root was flying everywhere; crewmembers left the pseudo-safety of their 'forts' and picked up ammunition wherever they could find it.

     "Captain!" Neelix cried as two drones sauntered up perilously close to her.  He rushed from the galley to protect his Captain, though not knowing what he could possibly do besides kick his short legs and scream.

     All motion stopped as he passed in front of the Borg Queen.  

     " . . .Talaxian.  Remain where you are."

     Neelix froze in mid-stride then turned back, his whiskers twitching nervously.  "Um, yes?"

     She walked a slow circle around him, eyes picking out all the bright colours of his unusual attire.  "You are . . .unique.  I must sample this form of individuality," her cold eyes rose to his astonished ones.  "Comply."

     "Now listen here!"  Janeway piped up rather loudly.  "You can't just take my Morale Officer because you want to!"  Even in her 'altered' state Janeway was still amazed by the words passing her lips.

     "I cannot?"

     "No, damn it!  We'll fight you!"

     The Borg Queen turned to Neelix.  "I am familiar with many species' customs.  You would make a good King."

     Neelix slowly began edging closer to his crewmates.  The Borg had always made him highly uneasy, but now he was utterly terrified.  "Captain?"

     Paris laughed from the other side of the Mess Hall, "I think the Queen just asked you to marry her!"

     Her head cocked once more, Janeway was beginning to see it as a habit.  "That would be an apt observation.  State your response."

     "No?"

     The Borg turned to Janeway. "It would be beneficial to you and your crew, and him as well, if you convinced him to comply."

     Janeway's eyebrows raised.  "What do you mean?"

     "I will spare your crew if this one," she pointed her finger in Neelix's direction, "comes with me."

     All eyes in the vicinity widened.  Even some of the Drones seemed uncomfortable.  But Kathryn Janeway shrugged.  "Well, in the interest of the crews' safety---Be my guest.  So long as you keep up your end."

     Neelix turned to protest, but shimmered away, along with the rest of the Drones.  Only the Queen remained.

     "You stay out of my way, Captain . . .Janeway---I will stay out of yours," she nodded.  "Ta Ta."

*** * ***

Seven stirred.  The Doctor had no need for sleep so he simply watched as the affects of intoxication wore off. Her hair fell in splendid gold disarray.  It was . . .a minor pleasure he had allowed himself to indulge in.  It was better then some of the other 'ideas' he had entertained.  

Heh, he had spent a large portion of the night pretending that he wasn't trapped in a Jefferies Tube with the most beautiful woman in the universe.  And when she had finally drifted into unconsciousness, he then tried to convince himself that it wasn't her body resting so softly against his side.  

     He always failed.

     Her Borg-enhanced hand traced lightly over his knee, absently, as if she wasn't sure where she was.  

     "Mmmm. . . .Doctor?"  

     He swallowed back a shiver that threatened at the movement of her fingers.  Why did she always reduce him to this, even with the most platonic of gestures?  "Yes, Seven?"

     Her gaze focused on the medical tricorder only three feet from her, but she could only see herself---all that she had said and did in the previous hours.  Her clouded blue eyes became lucid, and the horror manifested in the twitch of her lips.  "Oh no," she mumbled.

     "You could say that," the Doctor spoke softly, as much for him as for her.

     She straightened, to his disappointment, then smoothed her hair back from her face.  He watched quietly as she reconstructed her icy composure, her hands falling over her o so flattering attire and searching for imperfections.  His dark eyes followed the dance of her hands and he blushed, looked away.

     "Doctor, I apologize for my . . .intolerable behaviour."

     "It's quite alright.  I dare say, you acted admirably---under the circumstances."  He stared at his feet stretched out before him.  He wished this torture would end.

     "Doctor?"

     He looked up at her coolly beautiful face, then down at the hand she was holding out to him.  Held gingerly between her fingers was the slightly crumpled paper.  "You have not looked at my gift."

     He smiled small and appreciative, took the red-coloured paper and attempted to flatten it out.

     "I am afraid it is rather crude.  Shall I make you another?"

     He smoothed the creases out as best he could, trying ever so hard not to think of exactly how it came to be so damaged.  He held it lightly a moment, trying to digest the three little words scrawled erratically across its centre.  His eyes widened when the message finally registered.

     "'Be my valentine.'"  His eyes swung up to her, "Seven, what does this mean?"

     "Tom Paris said that you wished to be 'my valentine'.  I was uncertain of his meaning until I accessed the Computer's database on Traditional Earth Holidays," she spoke matter-of-factly, though she looked so much softer with her hair falling all around her shoulders.  "Will you comply?"

     He stared at the paper, which he could now see was somewhat heart-shaped.  "Seven, I don't think you truly understand what this means," he stared across at her.  How could she understand?

     "Humans give valentines to those whom they consider potential mates.  What is it that I have failed to understand?"

     He choked; this was too close to his dreams to be real.  He found himself unable to respond.  

     "Was I not clear in my intentions last night, Doctor?"

     "Well, actually, no."

     She leaned forward, her lips hovering just over his, "Am I not being clear now?"  She slid her hands along his collar, around his neck and pressed her mouth into his.  A quick pressure, and then she kissed him again, a longer more lingering one.  "Will you comply?"

     His eyes were wide and searching on her face, he nodded once. Seven smiled moderately, the slightest lift to her full lips.  And that was all it took, his arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her to him tightly.  Kissed her with all the passion he had been holding back for so many months.

     "*Ahem* Excuse me for interrupting . . ."

     Seven and the Doctor bolted apart.  The Borg's eyes were just a little glassy and her breath came in soft, short pants.  She looked at her Captain and several other Senior Officers through the now open hatch.  Tom Paris winked at her.

           " . . .But would you two like to come out?"

     Seven felt an unusual, prickling heat to her face that she quickly recognized as a blush.  She did not like the feelings of unease that came with it, but she nodded.

     The Doctor chuckled nervously.  It would seem only appropriate that they would come as soon as he didn't want to leave.

*** * ***

"And that, as they say, is that."  Janeway braced herself against her Readyroom table, all-too aware of the events from the previous night.  Tuvok simply blinked at her, no sign that he found any of their 'Ekas-induced' actions mildly disturbing.  

     "Mr. Neelix is no longer aboard Voyager?"

     "I'm afraid so."

     Tuvok nodded, seemingly acceptant of all that the Captain had just relayed to him.  "What shall I do with Mr. Paris?"

     "Mr. Paris," Janeway growled, turning her attention to the man who was now nervously looking everywhere but at her.  

     "You will take up Neelix's chores in the Mess Hall, Mr. Paris, as well as become the ship's new Morale Officer.  Ensign Emanon will assist you."

     Paris shot up, horror dawning in his eyes.  "No, Captain, NO!  Please?!"

     "Yes, Tom Paris, YES.  Now get to it!  I am . . .in dire need of a cup of coffee."

     "Well," Ensign Kim said, fingers toying with his Comm badge, "I, for one, am glad we got all the badges sorted out." 

     Janeway nodded in utter agreement, then looked around the table at each of her crewmates.  Why do I feel like something is missing, she mused silently.  Must be my imagination putting in overtime again.  She shrugged.

*** * ***

**Meanwhile . . .in a cozy little Jefferies Tube far from the chaos and mayhem of the Mess Hall:**

"Hello?  Is someone out there?  Please!"  Chakotay continued to pound his fist into the hatch, though the action was considerably weaker than the hour before.  He couldn't exactly remember how he managed to get stuck, or why in the hell he was there in the first place.  And while he was at it---where was his Comm badge?  It wasn't like him to go anywhere without it.  

He, of course, did not know that his Comm badge was in the possession of a certain Talaxian named Neelix---Who was now in the possession of a certain Borg affectionately referred to as The Borg Queen.

He started to rock slightly, his head protesting every movement he made.  Soon.  They would find him soon.  As soon as somebody noticed he was gone . . .

*** * ***

_"Hold me."_

_"Hmmm . . ."_

_     Tom shook B'Elanna again, poked and prodded at her until she finally stirred and glared up at him.  _

_     "Damn it, Tom!  What do you want?!"_

_     "B'Elanna, please, please hold me.  I had this horrible, terrible dream . . ."_

_     "Tom?"  B'Elanna's eyes were narrow and slightly annoyed.  She listened and yawned at various intervals as Tom relayed to her the dream that had so shaken him._

_     "Tom.  That wasn't a dream.  Now get your ass to the Mess Hall and make my breakfast!"_

_     *eep* "Yes, ma'am!"_

**.The End.******

This has to be one of the most useless stories I have ever composed.  But I think it has a few charms!  ^_^

Thanks for reading!


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